


Revelations

by de11a



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Child Abuse, Epistolary, Eventual Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, F/M, M/M, Rating May Change, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Tags May Change, i haven't written enough yet to determine what they should actually be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24714907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/de11a/pseuds/de11a
Summary: Harry just wants to spend the summer away from the horror that is the Dursley household. Regardless of his reasons, Dumbledore forces Harry to return to their physical mistreatment, to the lack of food, and to the verbal put-downs. But when Harry finds Malfoy on the train, they strike up a conversation and a tentative friendship. As they talk, Malfoy begins to realize that all is not as it seems in regards to Harry's home life. Over the course of the summer, and through several pieces of correspondence, more comes to light, and Harry finally gets the help he should have received years ago.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 16
Kudos: 130





	Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> hi :) this is my first ever fic, so please be nice. constructive criticism welcome and appreciated!

“The summer is for spending time with your loved ones, my boy. You can’t stay here over break; your relatives would be awfully lonely, would they not?"

Harry scoffed, covering it with a feigned cough. _As if! There’s not exactly any ‘love’ in that house_. “Yeah, I guess,” he responded cautiously. “But couldn’t I at least go to Ron’s house for the break, then?”

The headmaster sighed, leaning back in his tall chair. He reached for a silver tin on his desk before speaking. “Lemon drop?” Harry scrunched up his eyebrows in frustration; the old coot had a tendency to avoid confrontation, it seemed. He shook his head and responded curtly: “No thanks.”

The man hummed in response, taking one for himself and popping it into his mouth. “It’s a wonder what sweets Muggles come up with, really. Some of the most ingenious and delicious concoctions I’ve tried in my life. Although I wouldn’t refuse a Chocolate Frog, or even a Bertie Bott’s Bean if offered.” Harry cleared his throat pointedly. “Ah, yes. Do excuse me. I tend to lose track of my thoughts sometimes. It seems to come with my age.” _Sure_. “No, you cannot stay with your friends this summer, Harry. Your mother’s protection only works when you are on your aunt’s property, and, as you know, now is not the safest time for you in the Wizarding world. I’m sure Mr. Weasley could be convinced to keep up with your doings via owl post, however. And I’m quite sure Ms. Granger could even find a way to correspond as well – she is, as some would say, the brightest witch of her age.”

Harry sighed, it was the same response year after year, the same reasons he couldn’t escape his relatives back home – if he could even call the hell-hole he lived in as such. For a while, it was simply that his relatives would be missing him, as he “hadn’t even seen them during Christmas break, Harry.” Then, after the Triwizard Tournament and the resurrection of Voldemort, it seemed to shift to the current excuse of his mother’s protection. _A lot of good that does_ , Harry thought, _when it doesn’t seem to apply to the harm done to me by people living in the house_.

He forced a smile on his face and rose from his seat. “Well, I don’t want to miss the train, sir, so I should get going.” Dumbledore grinned a small, tight smile, nodding in acknowledgement.  
  


The walk down to the platform seemed to pass by in a flash; he was so lost in his thoughts, Harry had hardly noticed travelling through the halls he knew so well. He stumbled through the throngs of people trying to board, attempting to find his friends. He had barely made it halfway down the walk before he felt a hand grip his wrist.

“There you are, Harry! We’ve been looking for you for ages! Where have you been?!” It was Hermione. “Yeah, mate. What she said.” And Ron, it seemed – as eloquent as always. “I was just talking to Dumbledore.”

Ron’s features softened, realization dawning. “Oh. Is it about, y’know, uh, your relatives?” Harry nodded somberly, and Ron pulled him into a hug before he could react. Quietly into his ear, Ron whispered. “You know, if you ever need something, just owl us. I’m sure I could get the twins to help out again.”

In the summer after his second year at Hogwarts, due to a lack of correspondence in a previous month, Ron and his brothers, Fred and George, had come to his rescue. They had seen the bars on his window themselves and had proceeded to break through them and pull Harry to freedom. This, unfortunately, was the extent of their knowledge of Harry’s home life; he had made sure to keep his mouth shut about topics such as these, and had yet to divulge further details to anyone – including even the Weasleys.

Waiting patiently for their embrace to end, Hermione stood quietly to the side. She knew there were things Harry had not confided in her. And she was fine with it. After all, secrets are their keeper’s to share.

A bell tolled in the distance, signalling the train’s departure in five minutes time. “Look, mate. I’m real’ sorry ‘bout this, but we” he waved a finger between himself and Hermione “have to do our rounds, and we probably won’t be able to come sit with you after.”

At Harry’s confused expression, Hermione stepped in. “What Ronald means, is that we have to attend to our duties as Prefects. Because of this, and because the train is probably already packed full, we may not be able to sit with you, and will probably end up sitting with the rest of the Prefects.”

Harry nodded, his eyes downcast. At least he might get some rest before he got to King’s Cross. “That’s alright. I know you guys can’t help it anyway.”

With a clap on the back from Ron and a sorrowful look from Hermione, the trio parted ways. As the two walked towards the front of the train, Harry could hear Ron’s pleading to Hermione to “please not call me Ronald – it makes you sound like my mum.” Chuckling softly, Harry turned and walked the opposite direction, towards his friends’ usual cart at the back end of the train.

Reaching a door, he stepped on board and continued down the hall. As he passed each compartment, he observed the colours of each of the doorknobs, feeling the train slowly build up speed beneath his feet.

A crafty seventh year by the name of Joseph something-or-other had initiated the use of colouring charms on the doorknobs to signal the vacancy, or occupancy, of the rooms. Much like a Muggle stoplight, the knobs were coloured greens, oranges, and reds. A green knob simply meant that they were empty, and free of people or their luggage, whereas a red one meant there was no vacancy, and the area was full-up. If a room, however, had some free space, the knob would be turned a shade of orange. The knobs were charmed to change colour each time an addition or reduction was made to the group but could be, by a third-year’s standards, easily changed. This proved especially useful for those who did not want any intrusions by any unexpected individuals.

As one might expect, Harry did not find any green knobs and only a handful of orange ones. With a quick glance through the windows, or a listen through the thin wood of the doors of the possible candidates, Harry had found that all of them had simply been claimed by groups of rowdy firsties – ones who had not seemed to have expanded their friend group enough to fill up a compartment.

Well, almost all of them. At the very last, Harry glanced inside and saw a head of very short, blond hair atop a makeshift pillow. Despite his strong hopes he was wrong, Harry was sure it was most definitely not Luna. And there was only one other with that shockingly bright colour of hair: Draco Malfoy.

With a deep sigh, and an annoyed and breathy “Fuck me,” Harry eased the door open, careful not to disturb the sleeping form. He stepped inside, and carefully pushed the door shut behind him. Closer-up, Harry could better see Malfoy’s face. Asleep, it seemed the boy was not so much of a nuisance, and, much to Harry’s chagrin, not half-bad in the looks department. It appeared the usual sneer and snarky remark had an effect on his overall appearance, a negative one at that.

Despite his original hope that he would have no new surprises during the school year, through many careful side-glances in the Quidditch changing rooms, and flips through Seamus’s personal store of magazines late at night (the kind someone would hide under his bed, and under several strong Disillusionment charms), Harry had determined that he was not entirely straight. Of course, the only person who had anything more than a guess at this was Seamus. Perhaps Dean knew too at this point, as Seamus had trouble hiding anything from his boyfriend, but Harry trusted the both of them to keep quiet about it until he was ready to share. This, he now supposed, explained his sudden appreciation for the male form, unfortunately including Malfoy into the mix.

Turning away from him, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out his shrunken trunk. Muttering a quick “ _Engorgio_ ”, he enlarged his trunk, returning it to its original size. The trunk grew quickly to its former size, and Harry lost his grip on the shifting handles. He dropped it to the compartment floor with a loud clunk and a sharp “Crap!”

Malfoy’s eyes flew open, his pupils dilating to acclimate to the surrounding light. Quickly, he jumped up from his spot on the seat, brushing off his robes and flicking stray hairs from his face. “Potter?!”

Flinching at the sudden noise, Harry turned to face Malfoy. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

Taking a deep breath, Harry replied, hovering his hands palm-down in front of himself in an attempt to show his lack of wand, “There were no more compartments with any space. And besides” Harry glanced quickly down to the Prefect badge on the Slytherin’s robes, “aren’t you supposed to be on Prefect duties, and not in here?”

Malfoy sniffed, obviously miffed by Harry’s response – or maybe it was just by his presence, who could tell? “As a matter of fact, I’ve finished my duties, Potter. All Slytherins, unlike you and your precious Gryffindors, arrive half an hour prior to departure and therefore find seats before everyone else. This allows me to complete my rounds before you even get on the train.”

Harry tilted his head, contemplating what he just heard. “That’s actually kinda’ smart. I should do that next year.” Malfoy was taken aback. “What?”

“I said that’s a good id-”

“No. No,” Malfoy interjected, his voice softening in tone. “I heard what you said. I just didn’t expect you to say something like that – I was expecting something stupid, like always.”

Harry frowned, knitting his eyebrows together and pursing his lips, placing his hands on his hips. “Watch it, Malfoy!” Malfoy simply flipped him the finger and sat down, indifference written across his face. “Whatever, Potter.”

Harry turned and grabbed his wand from his pocket, waving it in an intricate pattern. “ _Leviosa_.” He lifted his trunk off of its forgotten place on the compartment floor and into the extra storage racks above the seats. He humphed and sat down heavily in the plush seating, sinking into its comfortable material.

“Are you quite done making a racket?” Malfoy said, watching from his place a few feet away. “I _was_ sleeping before you so rudely interrupted.” Harry covered his mouth in an attempt to stifle a serendipitously placed yawn. “Yeah, sure, whatever. I was gonna get some sleep too before we get to King’s Cross. God knows I won’t be sleeping much back home.”

Malfoy scoffed, exaggerating his words. “What, too much time being worshipped for being the Chosen One to sleep?”

Before answering, Harry removed his cloak, twisting it into a bundle and placing it under his head on the seat, laying down comfortably in the length of the chairs. He looked down to his hands to see the nails he had grotesquely bitten down – a nervous habit he had gained when waiting in his room – a cupboard under the stairs for the better part of the first eleven years of his life – for his uncle to choose a punishment for his misbehaviour. “Nah. Chores: got loads of them to do. Never get much sleep because of ‘em. I always have to get up early to make breakfast for ‘em, and then go to sleep late after cleaning up from dinner.”

Malfoy twisted his face into mock confusion, speaking with heavy sarcasm. “The Golden Boy has chores?! What is the world coming to – our Saviour has to do work!” Harry turned with pursed lips to face the blond. “Not exactly like you do too many chores, though, Malfoy. Bet you’ve never even picked up after yourself, even as a child. Even when you made a mess of your huge, extravagantly designed room, I bet you had the house-elves clean up.”

Malfoy frowned, laying down on his own bench, matching Harry’s position, though slightly more cramped due to his stature. “No. When I was younger, Mother made me clean-up. It was supposed to give me character, and make me more ‘worldly’.” Harry laughed deeply. “Worldly?! Hah! Bet you don’t even know what that means!” Malfoy crossed his arms over his neatly pressed collared shirt.

“As a matter of fact, I do. Word for word.” Harry groaned and covered his eyes with his right forearm in a feeble attempt to block him out. “It is an adjective that means experienced and sophisticated, or, alternatively, it means ‘of or concerned with material values or ordinary life rather than a spiritual existence’.”

Muffled, Harry responded, “When I said ‘bet’, it was not an actual bet.” He removed the arm from his face and glanced over to Malfoy. “But, my God – you’re like a walking dictionary. Did you memorize the whole thing?” Malfoy opened his mouth to answer but was stopped short. “Wait – no. Don’t answer that. You’re probably gonna say something stupid like ‘Father thought it would make me more worldly’.” Harry laughed at his own joke.

Speaking over the guffaws and occasional snort, Malfoy said, “No, actually. He said it would make me more presentable in social situations.” Harry looked him dead in the eye. “You’ve got to be having me on, Malfoy.” He shook his head in response, sending Harry into another bout of laughter. When the last chuckles finally left his mouth, Harry sighed deeply. “Ya’ know, Malfoy, you’re not that bad to be around – when you’re not being a total git.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Maybe it’s not me that’s being the git. Maybe it’s you who’s being the pillock.” Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy. “How am I a pillock? If anything, you’re the one with the bird-brain.”

Malfoy snorted in a sort of half-laugh. “For one, who would reject the friendship of one of the most amazing people you had ever met.”

Harry turned to see Malfoy looking at him dead serious. “Is that what all your awfulness is about: me not accepting your hand in friendship, what, almost five years ago?!”

Malfoy sniffed unabashedly. “So what? What’s your point?”

“My point is if you wanted to be friends this whole time, why didn’t you just say so, and stop acting like a complete jerk?”

Malfoy sighed heartily, mumbling his words. “Maybe it was because no one had ever turned down my offer of friendship before. I-I wasn't used to it, I guess.”

Harry hummed softly in response, and they returned to silence. With the silence, Harry could stop and think it through: _I guess it does make sense that no one would have turned away a friendship from him before me. I mean, his family is pretty damn powerful. They could have just bought people to be his friends_. In a split-second decision, one his future-self might chastise him for, Harry sat up and held out his right hand, in the position for a handshake.

“Ya’ know, we could try again – we don’t have to stay enemies.” Malfoy opened his eyes ( _When did he close them?_ ) and turned his head to face Harry, confusion lacing his features, exasperation lacing his words.

“What do you want, Potter?” Harry smiled and made a show of extending his hand. “I want to be friends, Malfoy. What do you say? Shall we try again?” Malfoy looked from Harry’s face, and then to his hand – and to his face, and back to his hand.

“Are you mad? Why would you want to be friends with me? What would the rest of your Golden Trio say about this?” Harry rolled his eyes and waved his hand through the air, annoyance clearly prevalent in his mind.

“Jeez, Malfoy! Didn’t you hear anything we were talking about before this?! I said you were fun to be around when you weren't annoying. But besides that, who cares if they’d agree or disagree! I’ll be your friend if I bloody well want to be your friend!”

Malfoy looked affronted. “Alright, alright. Enough, stop. I get it.” He looked back at Harry’s hand, and then back to the brunet’s face. “No. I’ll not be your friend – not yet at least. At the very most I will be an acquaintance; an ally.”

Harry grinned widely. “Works for me.” Reaching his own right hand out, he grasped Harry’s, and shook once, twice, three times, sealing their agreement. They released each other’s hands, and Malfoy looked at his own as if it was infected. He wiped it on his trousers. Just in case. When he looked back to Harry, he saw the boy was smiling like a lunatic.

“Why do you look like that?” Malfoy quizzed.

“Because I’m happy. Do you not know what a smile is? Surely that was in the dictionary you memorized,” Harry retorted, chuckling. Malfoy may have smiled a bit, but it was gone just as soon as it appeared, if at all.

“Anyways…,” Harry started, “Let’s play a game!”

“A game?” was the muttered response.

“Yes. A game. We must play a game to signify our friendship-” Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Harry. “- _acquaintanceship_. It’s how it works, trust me.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, again. “You’re like a bigger version of a toddler. So much energy. Where do you get it all from? And trust you?!” Malfoy snorted. “Sure. I’d just as soon trust a hippogryph to give me a ride to Diagon Alley.”

He quieted, then, biting his lip as he mulled the idea over in his head. "Alright. But only _one_ game," he agreed. “And nothing stupid like the firsties play before their bedtime.”

**Author's Note:**

> i doubt anyone is going to actually read this story because i don't have any sort of following that would bring people to this, but if anyone does manage to find it, lmk if you want more. i'll write more if anyone wants it (literally if just one person says something - i've never written any fanfiction before so feedback would A M A Z I N G) and maybe even if someone has any ideas?? i'm not the best with plot and whatnot, so i'll def take your ideas into consideration


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